The fire slowly burning
the gas turned on high
no kindle needed for this glowing happiness
the lights hanging
imitating to the Spanish moss usually present
leaning down from the branches
to kiss the tops of heads
The smell of a cherry pie
Tricking your senses into believing
That a treat is waiting for you at home
But no
It is just the wood, crackling in the fire
Emitting the fragrant smell
That only comes with Christmastide
Helene, age 16